


it talks in tongues and quiet sighs

by qbrujas



Series: i learn myself in you [4]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Non-Explicit Sex, words found and lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27711245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qbrujas/pseuds/qbrujas
Summary: Nate is her undoing (and oh so very welcome), but she will also be his.
Relationships: Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Series: i learn myself in you [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008429
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	it talks in tongues and quiet sighs

Nate is her undoing; unfair, imperfectly perfect man that he is.

The beginning and the end of her, always, with his words and his smiles and his mouth and his hands; with this heat on her skin, with that look in his eyes. The look that feels like it could swallow her whole, the one that tells her he _wants_ to.

Eva kisses his jaw, rough with stubble that scratches her skin; leaves marks on his neck and his shoulders that heal and fade before her eyes, but the memory of the shiver that passes through him remains imprinted on them both. His arm wraps around her waist, firm, pulling her close against him and she marvels as always at the strength that he hides (at the myriad of ways he holds himself back, even now, even like this). She clings to him and kisses him until she’s out of breath, until her lips are swollen, until she is sure the taste of him is the only thing she will ever know again.

And she speaks, litanies that fall freely from her lips amidst sighs and moans as their bodies move together, as his hand slides between them, as his fingers tease her and bring her achingly close to a shattering release.

(“Let me hear you,” he’d told her the first time, his voice smooth as silk and barely more than a whisper in her ear. “The sounds, the words if you have them, what you want, what you need. Let me hear all of it. I want to learn you.”)

“ _Mi amor,_ ” she says, low against his skin, rushed, panting. He must feel it as much as he hears it. “ _Mi vida, mi todo, mi ser._ ”

Words, words; unfamiliar, raw words. Words found in a language she never speaks anymore because she’s locked it up tight like the rest of her, words she had never said or wanted to say to anyone before. Words he draws out of her with an ease that should be disturbing but isn’t at all because it’s Nate and there is nothing in her, no matter how deep she’s buried it, that she wouldn’t give him.

She is pulled apart and pieced back together (he has learned how to do that, too, learned how to make every jagged piece of her fit with the rest, and with his), lost to him, found in him.

He is her undoing, fully, entirely, and _welcome_.

But then, then, she will also be his.

“You are exquisite,” he tells her, words almost lost in the way he gasps. “Divine. I could look at you like this forever.” Half-lidded eyes drink her in as he looks up at her and she sees the awe, the adoration in his gaze that makes her skin prickle with heat. Hands rest on her hips, weighted and hot and anchoring, holding her and yet also— _surrendering_. He is hers, in this moment and always, he is _hers_.

He opens his mouth to say something else—an endearment perhaps, more praise, sweet sweet words; he never fails to tell her how beautiful she is or how good she feels, in the languages they both know and in ones only he does. He calls her _prāṇa-priye, meri jaan, delbar-am, ya hayati_ —but her hips move and instead he moans, head arching back with his neck exposed and this time the words _are_ lost, forgotten and unimportant.

His grip on her hips tightens, still so careful but now a little less so, and the faint bruises he might leave on her will not heal so quickly, will take days to fade from her skin. (He will kiss them later, sweet and slow and lingering, and later still when she is alone she will run her fingertips over the shapes of them, will think of him and this moment and how she would gladly wear any marks he’d wish to give her.)

As they both come undone, the closest thing to a thought her mind can form (that isn’t his name, over and over again) is that word ‘forever’ and the catching ember of hope that he _means_ it.

**Author's Note:**

> Eva's string of Spanish: "my love, my life, my everything, my (very) being"  
> prāṇa-priye (Sanskrit): dearmost, dear as life/breath  
> meri jaan (Hindi): my life  
> delbar-am (Farsi): the one who holds my heart  
> ya hayati (Arabic): my life
> 
> come find me on tumblr @queerbrujas, where all i do is scream about vampires


End file.
